


Cult of Domesticity

by prozacplease



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Banter, Domestic Fluff, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Taco Bell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 11:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6327367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prozacplease/pseuds/prozacplease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock and Jack have a bed frame and mattress, but no sheets. This means a reluctant trip to the mall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cult of Domesticity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GlitterCrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitterCrow/gifts).



> This monstrosity is based solely on a conversation I had with my friend while we were walking through a mall. We agreed that Brock doesn't know what a pillow sham is.

Brock and Jack have lived in a house together for over six months. They still maintain that it is an arrangement born out of convenience rather than their ever closening relationship, and neither will admit that they like having someone to come home to.

Between missions, they work on the small, two-story house tucked into the suburbs of Washington, D.C. It’s been a slow process with their busy schedules, but they’ve redone some of the floors and painted most of the walls. Jack managed to not kill Brock when he tracked “Topaz Dream” paint across the carpet in the living room. And Brock only hit Jack a few times when he pretended to get electrocuted by a light socket that he was rewiring.

The only source of major contention has been the bedroom. They put the bedframe and headboard together with no problem. Picked out a mattress and moved it without screaming at each other. But somewhere in the mess of missions and chronic pain and jet lag, they still haven’t put sheets or anything on the bed.

Brock thinks they should just order something online. One of those bed-in-a-bags on Amazon, maybe. He has a Prime membership. Jack maintains that they should go to a store. It’s a decision that should be tactile and made jointly. However, Brock is the most pathologically antisocial person that Jack knows. So it’s nearly impossible for him to drag Brock out of the house.

Rather than start a fight about it, Jack has been sleeping on a bare mattress for nearly half a year. Their bed is a rat’s nest of mismatched pillows and blankets that is driving Jack insane. However, Brock seems perfectly content to sleep with nothing but his army poncho liner and an old pillow.

Jack understands the special relationship between a man and his “woobie.” His own poncho liner was a great source of comfort when he was shivering in the mountains of Afghanistan. And like many soldiers, he wrote his woobie off as a field loss and paid the charges to bring it home with him.

But Brock is on a different level with his ratty, camouflage blanket. He still takes it on missions with him. Sleeps with it in safe houses and sleeping bags. The damn thing is probably older than most of the men under Brock’s command.

Jack is reminded of a baby with a security blanket when he sees Brock sleeping with it. He pulls it over his shoulders and tucks it under his chin. That’s how he is positioned when Jack wakes up on a Saturday morning, feeling instantly agitated by the state of the bed.

“Get up. We’re going out,” Jack says, throwing off his side of the covers. “I’ll let you have the shower first if you drag your ass out of bed.”

Brock makes a tired, irritated noise. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, eyes closed against the light peeking through the blinds.

“All right. I’m gonna use all the hot water while I jerk off,” Jack says.

He stretches as he walks to the foot of the bed, where he yanks off Brock’s woobie. Brock screeches out an angry, animal cry that has Jack running out of the bedroom. Brock leaps off the bed, but only to grab his woobie from the floor. Jack laughs all the way into the bathroom, but he’s secretly relieved that Brock hasn’t tackled him to the hallway floor and started wailing on him. Brock is sitting on the couch, his woobie draped over his shoulders, when Jack comes into the living room. He’s completely naked, on his way back to the bedroom to get dressed.

“C’mon, you need to jump in the shower,” he says.

Brock flops onto his side. “I don’t wanna go anywhere.”

“I know. You never do. But we’re going,” Jack says. “You need to get out of the house for a few hours.”

“Where are we even going?” Brock asks.

“The mall.”

Brock’s head snaps up and he whips around to look at Jack. “Fuck no. I ain’t going to the fuckin’ mall.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna get sheets and stuff today. C’mon, up.”

“We can get fuckin’ sheets at Walmart or something,” Brock growls.

“I wanna buy something nice.”

Brock is settling back down on the couch. “Okay, have fun. I’m gonna watch TV.”

“No, this is a joint decision,” Jack says. “You have to come too.”

“If it’s a joint decision, then why don’t I get any say in where we go?”

“That’s not part of the joint decision. I have to drive, so I get to pick where we go,” Jack says.

Brock makes an unpleasant sound. “Will you take me to Taco Bell after?”

“Yes, I’ll buy you lunch,” Jack says with a sigh.

“And not the shitty one at the food court. You’re taking me to the fancy one,” Brock continues as he stands up from the couch.

“Yes, Brock. I will take you to the remodeled Taco Bell and buy you a chicken Quesalupa,” Jack promises. “I can barely keep up with your caviar tastes.”

“You’re the one who wants to buy a bed set at the fuckin’ department store,” Brock says.

* * *

The mall parking lot is busy and Brock is tense before they even get inside. Jack makes sure they use the department store entrance so he doesn’t have to drag Brock through the entire mall and risk losing him in the sporting goods store.

Brock fidgets on the escalator and he looks like he’s about to have a conniption by the time they make it to the home section. There is a whole area dedicated to bedding, complete with several beds that are made up with sets of matching sheets, pillows, and duvets. Jack runs his hand over one of the comforters and Brock crosses his arms tightly.

“These are all gay,” Brock says.

Jack rolls his eyes. “Flowers don’t make things automatically gay.”

Brock flops onto one of the display beds and the frame gives a worrying crack. A woman looking at throw pillows stares at them.

Jack glares at Brock. “Get the fuck off the bed,” he hisses.

Instead of obeying the command, Brock rolls onto his side and poses himself seductively. He rubs the flowery bedspread with one hand. “Can’t you see me laid out on this one, playin’ with my—”

Jack makes a strangled sound, which thankfully prevents the staring woman from hearing Brock finish his sentence. “Get off the bed before I fucking kill you and throw your corpse in one of the food court dumpsters,” he says through gritted teeth.

Brock grins. “Dirty talk in the mall?” he asks.

Jack turns on his heel and walks in the other direction. He knows Brock’s game. Giving him attention will only make it worse. He acts out in an effort to embarrass Jack until he leaves the store or, in one instance, until they get kicked out. Brock immediately hops off the bed and follows Jack.

“I s’pose you want a camo bedspread or something,” Jack says, subdued. “To match your stupid woobie.”

“Don’t talk shit on my woobie. It doesn’t have to match.”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, because it’s going on the back of the couch. We’re tossing that gross pillow of yours, too.”

“No way! I just got that one broken in!” Brock cries.

“It took you twenty years to break it in?” Jack asks, looking at the different bed sets that are zipped up in plastic. “C’mon, Brock.”

“I don’t want a new one,” Brock says.

Jack pulls a package off the shelf and looks at it. The duvet is white with thin gray, black, and red stripes. The sheets match the red in the duvet. “This one’s not bad. It’s a bed skirt, comforter, flat sheet, fitted sheet, two pillowcases, and two pillow shams.”

“What the fuck is a pillow sham?” Brock asks, nose wrinkled.

Jack fights the urge to bang his head against the shelf. “They’re fancy cases for the pillows in the back.”

“Who needs four pillows on the bed?” Brock asks, looking at the picture on the package.

“Normal people. Do you like this one or not?”

“Doesn’t offend me,” Brock says with a shrug.

“Matches the gray on the walls,” Jack says.

“Oh, my God,” Brock groans. “You’re gay.”

“That was your first clue? Not my tongue down your throat?” Jack asks nonchalantly, turning the package over to make sure he’s picked out the right size.

Brock looks uncomfortable again. He has his arms crossed when they go to look at pillows. Jack decides that Brock won’t be much help (as if he was any help in the first place), but he surprises him with some input.

“I don’t want down ones,” Brock says when he sees Jack pick one up. “Got stabbed with a feather once.”

“Okay, no down,” Jack agrees. He pauses. “I thought you didn’t want new pillows.”

“Doesn’t seem like I get to decide. So that’s my only demand.”

Jack ignores Brock’s whining and focuses on finding them a pillowtop mattress cover. He tries to compromise by offering to take Brock to the sporting goods store to look at running gear, but Brock doesn’t take the bait. He’s only placated when Jack drives him to the opposite side of the city and buys him lunch from the “fancy” Taco Bell.

Jack, who still mourns the loss of the Bell Beefer, doesn’t understand the appeal of every new and strange menu item that Taco Bell comes up with. Unlike Brock, he doesn’t treat his body like a garbage disposal. He considers the sour cream on his Burrito Supreme an indulgence. And the only explanation that Brock can offer for the appeal of the Quesalupa is that there is cheese in the shell. However, Jack has to admit that Brock is pretty cute as he demolishes two of them with his feet irreverently propped up on the dash.

When they get home, Brock surprises Jack by helping him make the bed. He surprises Jack even further by telling him that their room looks nice with the new bedding.

“You tryna get fucked?” Jack asks, eyebrow quirked as he smooths out the covers.

Brock shrugs, looking down at their newly made bed. “I guess we should break it in,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Come hang out with me on Tumblr!](http://www.prozacplease.tumblr.com)
> 
> ♥ Comments are always appreciated. ♥


End file.
